The Sound of Silence
by UnsightlyDreams
Summary: The truth is, life is given to us regardless of whether or not we deserve it. (OCInsert)


The truth is, I am an anomaly.

Of course, nobody apart from me happens to see it that way. To my brother, I am a part of his world – in fact; he probably can't even imagine having it any other way. I am loved by my parents, to an extent that someone might even call me a spoiled child.

Anyway, the truth, as I so put it, is debatable. Strictly speaking, this world isn't supposed to exist. So the fact that it does, and to the degree it does, is in fact, rather worrying. In the beginning, I deliberated the idea that my soul (if such a thing even exists) was simply transported to another being. There was no other explanation, was there?

But time, along with an unhealthy lack of resources forced me to concede that yes, this indeed is my new life, and that no, there's no way I can change it.

I was born on 27 March, 1960, smack in the middle of London, England.

And I wasn't born alone either.

I shared a womb with none other than… James Potter.

Astonishing, right?

My parents, sharing a sense of humor that would later be passed onto my older sibling, adequately named me Emma. It wasn't the name I had so much of a problem with as was the nickname – _Emmie_. For some reason, it just felt wrong to be called by the name of my erstwhile sister who I had once hated with a passion.

Now, it just made me miss her more.

To be honest, I was a dreadful child. I screamed, cried, wailed – did whatever I could do once I realized that my sight was blurry and that my limbs refused to function in a normal manner. The first time father picked me up from the cot; I promptly peed on him, and then, to my embarrassment, shrieked in the loudest, shrillest voice possible.

I stuck to my mother like glue. Canon didn't tell us anything about James's parents, but to my delight, I found they were the nice, affable sorts that allowed us to flourish the way we wanted to. Being first-timers, and saddled with two kids at once, I often caught sight of the circles beneath their eyes and winced briefly before continuing my wailing.

After a time, Dad started leaving for work more and more, and it was only after my fourth month that I realized what world I had been born in. The name 'James Potter' gave off no warning bells. It was innocent enough, really.

But the first time a sickly looking wrinkled, clad-in-a-washcloth-Elf with pointy ears picked me up and tried to change me with magic, I shrieked the house down.

Mum literally came running in, her hair escaping from her practical bun that she ignored in favor of holding me and murmuring soothing words. Seconds later, my palm had been placed in the Elf's hand, and I'd been informed in clear tones - "Emma, honey, this is our House Elf – Hokey. Say hello!"

Hokey's wide orbs regarded my still, shell-shocked figure hesitantly before awkwardly squeezing my hand. When I didn't respond, tears started gathering in her eyes as she snatched her hand away.

"Mistress Emma doesn't like Hokey, Madam Potter! Hokey w-will –,"

Before the elf could burst into loud tears, I instinctively leaned forward into her.

Till today, I don't know why I did that. It might have just been poor motor-coordination that the incident had even occurred. To be fair, I was supposed to be scared and awed by the realization of just what world I was in. But, at the sight of her hurt face, I simply couldn't resist. I could never resist a crying face, really.

Hokey promptly clasped my small form to herself, and any doubts I had of her dropping me disappeared when I realized that her embrace was tight and true.

Behind me, mum laughed softly.

It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship, one that lasted for a shorter time than I had ever expected. But I digress.

James, on the other hand, was a hell-maker from the start. Hokey didn't scare him at all – oh, not James Potter. From the very beginning, he delighted in chortling all over her, sometimes throwing up milk in the process. As he would grow older, he would descend to pulling her washcloth with chubby fingers to pinching her long ears with a tenacity that surprised even dad.

It was awkward thinking of my new parents as my parents, really. Often, I dreamt of a different face, with different eyes and a different smile, but even when I was young, I could recognize that the kindness behind both was the same. They both spoiled us rotten. Our room was chock-full of toys, our clothes were never repeated, and we were never left wanting.

Some of that, I'd think later, was what would contribute to James' arrogance in the future, but for now, he was an absolutely amazing child.

If an annoying brother.

Being an adult trapped in a child's body, I had no eagerness for games. But James did, and what James did, I would eventually end up doing, mostly because he delighted in pulling me with him everywhere. I didn't particularly mind, because ultimately, I used him a as a stepping stone. I started walking weeks after James had his first drunken waddle, spoke my first word months after he did…

Even then, I was never considered the slower child. After learning how to read (through a professional tutor, no less), I ended up spending all my free time in the library. I looked up books on history, geography, and magic, anything I could get my pudgy hands on.

It was around my second year that I realized mum had more wrinkles than what you'd expect from a woman with her firstborn.

In a flash, I recalled that JK Rowling had once said James had old parents, and that they'd probably died of Dragon Pox. That realization made me sad for days at an end, even forcing Charlus (or dad) to buy me a new toy in an attempt to make me happier. Ultimately, I ended up accepting it as fate. There was nothing I could do to change anything, honestly. Death is inevitable. So instead, I took the toy, plastered an appropriately happier smile on my face, and proceeded to giggle uncontrollably when Dad started tickling me.

James had no such worries. From the very beginning, he was a charmer. He charmed everyone – the guests who came over to meet us, Dad's colleagues, other children – while I hung at the sidelines, quietly observing and desperately trying to place familiar faces before being coaxed out by my parents and forced to be social.

I was never an extrovert anyway, but I'll admit it right now – I used the excuse of having a brother to hide behind his shadow. Social situations left me awkwardly shy, even ones I had slowly gotten used to in my past life. For one, I had no idea to act. And the second, well, it was just easier to let James take the lead. He was a born leader.

I don't think I did a bad attempt at being a child, but even then, I'm sure my parents could tell something was wrong. They, bless their hearts, never did treat me any differently though. Often times, other people would comment on my too-wise-eyes, and my mum would only laugh airily while dad would call me his little prodigy.

It made me antsy to know people could read me so well.

Other than that, I had a relatively blissful childhood. Magic ensured that I never had to go through the indignity to being diaper-changed, and that teething could be overcome with a simple spell to soothe the gums. Of course, it also ensured that 'accidents' happened, mostly when James forced me on his toy broomstick and I went crashing down faster than he could call out my name in distress. He was pretty bummed out about the whole thing later. Mum and Dad assumed it was because I couldn't play pretend-Quidditch with him, but I had figured out the real reason – he was guilty.

Even at the age of five, James was a bleeding heart.

Years later, I knew, it would contribute to his untimely demise, all because he placed his trust in the wrong man.

To be fair, I never really thought about that in the beginning. I kept myself busy, reconciling the world as I knew it to the books I'd read almost obsessively. The library became my home – it reached an extent that food would automatically appear next to my favorite armchair at the right times. I burned through history – the Goblin Wars, the foundation of Hogwarts, the Pureblood tree, everything. Soon enough, I began applying what I knew to what I found out, and came to one startling conclusion – Magic did tire people out.

It wasn't mentioned anywhere but in a really, really old, dusty tome I found during my I-am-bored-and-James-is-sleeping time. It told me that every wizard (or witch) was born with a magical core, and overtime, it _could_ be depleted.

However, that was rare. But what did happen was this: the more you used magic in one go, the more your concentration wavered. The best analogy I could come up with so far was this – you sit down to study, you're pumped, but soon enough, your attention _will_ waver, and it becomes harder and harder to bring it wrenching back over time. But that only happened after really extensive use of spells, which made it kind of irrelevant.

The whole thing made me frown. No wonder Voldemort was so powerful. Most fantasy books at least tried to place a limit on the amount of power you could amass. But not in this world.

Whispers of Voldemort's name had begun leeching through the magic world, of that, I was sure. Often, I caught the ends of a particularly riveting newspaper article before either of my parents – or Hokey – would snatch it away, claiming I was too young to be reading the news. In hindsight, I understood what they were trying to do – they only wanted to preserve my innocence for as long as possible. But the whole thing made me antsy. I wanted to know – hell, if this was my new world, I _deserved_ to know.

It was after one of these days that my brother found me sulking in the library, trying to drown my irritation in a book about Transfiguration. We were both only four, but James' enthusiasm was something that could never be curbed.

"Em! Em! Come out! Mummy calling!" He grabbed my arm when I responded with an unintelligible grunt and proceeded to drag me outside. Even then, he was lots stronger than me. "_Moveeeeee_, Emmie! New person in house!"

That perked me up. We hadn't had anyone new in _ages. _The last thing I remembered were the wisps of a long-forgotten Christmas party where I was pushed around from one hand to another and cooed at quite annoyingly.

"Who?" I asked immediately, stumbling a little as James pushed me through the door. "_Jaaaames_. Stop pushing me!"

"New person," came the logical reply, and his dark eyes glinted with mischief at knowing something I did.

"Tell me!"

"If Em didn't always disappear in library, she would know too!" He declared intelligibly.

I huffed in response, but kept silent. He did have a point. Seconds later, I entered the large living room, and promptly froze in my steps.

It was the big, blue, whizzing eye that stopped me, of course.

The next thing I knew, a wand was being pointed in my face, and I went cross-eyed in an attempt to keep it in sight.

"Alastor!" Mum screeched at Moody, running forward to grab me into her arms. "What do you think you're _doing_?!"

"Step back, Mrs. Potter! The child may be an imposter!" Moody grunted gruffly, trying to keep me in sight by twisting his head around.

Behind me, James started guffawing loudly, clearly amused by the very loud yelp I had emitted during the time. Dad, I noticed, was passing one weary hand over his face. I didn't blame him, not in the least.

"Emma is my child! Do you really think I won't be able to recognize what came out of _my own womb_?!"

Uh-oh, Mum sounded pissed as hell. And knowing her the way I did, if Moody didn't lower his wand in the next five seconds, something would give. Generally, she was a very calm and pleasant woman. Clearly, she didn't like her motherly skills questioned.

"Alastor, calm down," my Dad, the veritable peacekeeper interjected with a placating smile. "You're scaring Emma, and trust me, you don't want her to start crying anytime soon. She _never_ stops."

Red went rushing to my cheeks at the comment as James' laughter grew even louder. Once, when I was two, Dad had accidentally scared me by transforming my favorite teddy into a cat. A _live_ cat that had promptly curled around my small body and terrified the living daylights out of me. I had responded by crying my voice out, and ultimately, Dad had to use the silencing spell on me lest I wake James up too.

Mum had responded to that one by threatening to throw Dad out of the house if he ever did that again.

Incidentally, I had never really lived that episode down.

"Hmph," Moody grunted in response, but lowered the wand anyway. His crazy blue eye roved over my face critically. "Constant vigilance, eh, Mr. Potter? Once, in Albania, I caught –,"

"Ah, yes," my father interrupted hurriedly, not allowing Moody to complete his story, "Would you like some tea, then?"

"You know I only drink from my flask, Mr. Potter. Don't trust anyone, I'd say. Anyway, as I was saying –,"

"There are children here, Alastor," Dad reminded quietly.

"Right, of course. Almost forgot." With that, Moody snapped his mouth shut and turned to peer at us once more. By this time, James was clutching Mum's dress in one tiny fist while I was still in her arms. "So which one you want me to take, then? The boy?"

_Take_? I had an impromptu heart attack right then and there. They wanted to send me away?

I thought they loved me!

"No, no, not James. He already has someone –," Hang on, They were sending James away too?!

"We want you to be Emma's Godfather."

Cue to the shining teeth as my entire family (sans me) smiled at Moody as if they were selling him a cracker for Christmas. I, on the other hand, was too busy calming my shaking heart. What a stupid assumption to make, really. I blew myself away with my stupidity sometimes.

In my musings, I had completely missed the next part of the exchange, and the next thing I knew, I was being shifted into another pair of arms. Instantly, my head snapped up, came face-to-face with grizzly whiskers I had never seen up close before, and as was my prerogative in most situations, shrieked loudly.

Moody dropped me to the floor.

Faced with the sharp pain shooting through my back, I burst into loud tears.

"Emma, Emma, honey, calm down," Mum muttered as she rocked me in her arms. I curled myself around her even more. "Now, don't cry. You aren't a small baby anymore, Emmie, you can't keep crying every time you get hurt!"

"Oh, give her to me," Dad said loudly, and grabbed my twisting body before throwing me into the air. This time, I shrieked in happiness. My dad was the only allowed this privilege. It was partly because I _knew_ he wouldn't drop me, and even if he did, Mum would skin him alive, and that would always be fun to watch. "You like that, don't you? Little prodigy," he muttered, lowering me to the ground and ruffling my hair before kneeling. "Go apologize to Mr. Moody for scaring him now, yeah? You gave him quite the fright with your lungs."

He leaned forward conspiratorially. "I think you might have even traumatized him a little."

I giggled in response, shooting a glance at the formidable Auror who did look a little green. Although, that might have been because of the glares my mother was shooting at him.

I'll admit it right now – I was a daddy's girl through and through.

So, I waddled over to Moody, placed one hand on his pant leg, and adopted my most adorable expression before saying clearly:

"Constant V-vigilance!"

I think I left him a little shocked, because for the longest time ever, he only stared down at me with contemplative eyes. Then, slowly, as if I was a skittish animal that would bolt at the slightest opportunity, he picked me up.

"I accept," he said quietly, thereby sealing a relationship between us that I had never expected.

**{X}**

**A/N: I still have stories pending. But aw, hell. **

**Plot bunnies, y'all. **


End file.
